


When You Are No Longer Usefull

by T J Feardorcha (MonsterTesk)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chris in denial, Deaf Character, Disability, Disabled Character, F/M, In Medias Res, M/M, Muteness, Physical Disability, Pining Stiles, christiles, hearing impairment, hints of Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/T%20J%20Feardorcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We bring dying plants to the dead, supplicants to boxed rotting flesh stored in a field of other such memory trunks, but what do we bring to those who survive? The same supplications seem pointless, a meaningless grief for the loss of someone who is still living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Are No Longer Usefull

**Author's Note:**

> STS is speech to speech, a service available that allows people who are hard of hearing or have speech impairments to place phone calls using a CA (communications assistant). TTY is another type of service that is designed to help the disabled to conduct phone calls. Signalers refer to a system of visual cues that can be installed in a home to allow deaf people to be aware when someone rings their doorbell, if there is a fire alarm and other such alerts.  
> Please tell me if there are any inaccuracies or if I use the wrong language, offend, insult, or otherwise do harm.

[June]

 

With a flash and a tone, the doorbell goes off. Chris looks up from the blueprints he was reading. Chris is grateful. The house is often quieter than he has ever enjoyed. Sometimes he’s tempted to turn on the radio and blast it as loud as he can. He’s often tempted to put on Allison’s favorite bands and play them so loud that maybe she’ll be able to feel the familiar beats the way she can no longer hear them.

He can’t hear her in her room though he’s sure that’s where she is. Chris makes his way through the house on slightly louder feet than normal, possibly desperate for any noise at all.

Sometimes he feels as if he’s trying to make up for all the noise lost to Allison.

Chris hopes it’s not Derek at the door again, he has a lot to do today and he still doesn’t know which system to get because the language is hard to navigate and even more difficult to find a service for total deafness. The signalers were easy enough to get and install but he’s not sure how or what he’s supposed to do about telephone calls.

He’s leery about using STS because the thought of having other people listen in on Allison’s or his conversations is more than a little uncomfortable. Plus he has no idea what equipment he’d need or where to put it or even how useful it would be. The literature available isn’t all too clear.

Chris didn’t even have the faintest clue what TTY was before all of this happened.

 

It's Stiles, whiteboard and marker hanging around his neck. Chris waves, momentarily forgetting that, yes, other people still have their hearing. Stiles grins, his face moving with its now ever present stiffness. He waves back before drawing his eyebrows together and leaning to look past Chris.

He mouths something.

Chris has no idea what he's saying.

Stiles mouths it again with the same result. He sighs and picks up the whiteboard. Chris waits patiently at the door, trying hard not to stare at the bandages still around Stiles' neck. He looks tired in the same way Allison always looks now: jumpy, as if waiting for something terrible to happen. Chris would expect nothing less after everything they've been though.

'Is Allison home?' The whiteboard reads. Stiles has nice handwriting. Chris nods before having to remember, yet again, that Stiles can hear. They didn't take that away from him like they did with Allison.

"She's in her room. Do you want me to go get her?"

Stiles shakes his head, pulls a rag from his pocket, wipes the board and writes quickly.

'Can I go up there? She's expectin me.'

Chris holds the door open and steps to the side. Stiles grins at him, steps around, waves, and jogs up the stairs. Even that looks tired. Allison shouts Stiles' name a few seconds later. Chris smiles. It's the first thing she's said in days.

Chris goes back into his office.

 

Stiles comes back the next day.

And the day after.

Four days later, Chris hears Allison laugh for the first time since it happened.

 

Monday, Chris and Allison both start their sign language class.

The room is quiet, a few college students, some older folks, and one child with, presumably, his parent, Chris, Allison, and– Stiles. He grins and waves at Allison who waves back. He mouths something at her and points at the seats next to him. She grabs Chris's arm and drags him over.

Chris hears –or more sees– Stiles laugh for the first time possibly ever. The kid is always so serious. Or maybe it’s just Chris. Most of Allison's friends don't seem to like him too well.

He understands why.

 

Stiles comes home with them that night for dinner.

"Why wasn't your father with you, Stiles?"

Stiles sets down his fork, picks up his whiteboard and writes. Chris feels guilty around them, flaunting his ability to hear and speak. It's both lucky for him and unfortunate for Allison and her friends that Danny left town after it happened. Sometimes Chris thinks he should do the same; take Allison away from all of this. He knows she'd never forgive him.

'He picked up a shift. Gonna take the TR night classes instead.'

Chris nods and spears some asparagus. It's silent after that with just Allison and Stiles attempting to sign things at each other. They have the alphabet sheets on the table next to their plates.

There was a time Chris would have chastised Allison for bringing homework to the dinner table.

 

After dinner, they go up into Allison's room. Chris is a little concerned but not enough to feel the need to check on them. They've earned their privacy, their right to be treated like adults. Chris sits on the living room couch and practices the alphabet, desperate to be able to have a real conversation with his daughter again. He misses her voice, her laugh, her annoying music, the way she used to sing along off key.

A small part of him misses Victoria. Maybe she could have handled this better, saved Allison from this permanent mess. He tries to think of what she could have done but never comes up with anything. Werewolves he can handle but humans? He'd forgotten how monstrous they could be.

 

Scott comes over on Tuesday. While Chris still isn't all that happy with his relationship with Allison, he lets it slide. Whenever he checks in on them they're just laying together, laptop in front of them, sometimes typing to each other. Allison looks comfortable, some of the premature aging on her face lifted by his presence. Chris leaves them alone; he can't deny her any happiness. Not after everything she's been through.

 

Chris is at the Albertson's late in the evening picking up some groceries he forgot when he sees Stiles and Scott. They've got a basket full of Doritos and candy. It looks like they're having a conversation over frozen pizza. Stiles is mostly making faces and gestures in reply to Scott but that seems to work well enough for them. Chris has never seen friends close enough to be that fluent in each other's expressions.

Stiles bares his teeth, nose crinkling with a small side to side motion of his head. Scott mutters something, puts the pizza he picked up back, and grabs a different one. Stiles mouths something and makes a gesture that looks very crude to Chris and Scott laughs. They walk towards the front of the store having never noticed Chris.

 

He runs into Derek at the AutoZone when he's picking up more oil for his SUV. There's a tense, awkward silence where they just stare at each other through a display of tires. Derek grabs a battery off the rack next to him and carries it to the checkout.

Chris stands behind him in line and stares hard at his back, making sure to be closer than is polite.

 

Allison and Scott are watching the Avengers when he gets home, subtitles on. Chris waits until the movie is over before asking Scott if he knows how to change the oil in his car. Scott wrinkles his brow and says no so Chris takes him into the garage and teaches him. Allison sits on the ground nearby and cleans one of her rifles, a contented but tired look on her face. She always looks tired now.

 

On Thursday, Chris asks Stiles if he knows how to check his oil. He rolls his eyes and tells him he's been replacing spark plugs and changing oil since he was fifteen. Somehow, Chris feels a little disappointed that he can't teach Stiles anything. He asks about guns and Stiles writes on his whiteboard that his father is the sheriff as if that answers anything. It kind of does.

 

In their therapy session, Allison tells their therapist and him that she misses being able to go to the movies. Chris wishes there was some way he could make it so she could go to them; wishes he could somehow give her back her hearing.

 

That night he looks up home theaters and wonders if he could turn their backyard into a drive in Movie Theater for her. He could get a projector, set up some lawn chairs, and play movies for her against the back of the house. It's not the same but it's the best he can do.

 

One night he hears something on the roof. When he goes to check it out, Allison and Stiles are laying down on a blanket, staring at the night sky. He leaves them alone.

 

It's a waning gibbous moon when he sees Derek outside of Stiles' house. He was just driving by on his way home from a patrol in the woods. He says patrol but he means walk. There's something soothing in the danger of the forest that surrounds them. He's just standing there, leaning against his car as if he's waiting for something. The Stilinski front door opens and Chris has past before he can see who it is. He resists the urge to stop and meddle. It's none of his business, he tells himself as he takes a turn in the road and continues driving. None of his business.

 

Allison grips his hand tight, shaking, when the nurse walks in. It almost hurts but Chris does nothing about it. The hepatitis shot is over and done with quicker than Chris would think. Allison is wide-eyed and white knuckled on the drive home. He stops at Panera and picks them up some muffins and tea.

They lean against the car. Chris picks at his muffin while Allison holds her tea and watches people come and go. He wonders if it helps.

 

Chris looks up from his cup of coffee when the doorbell goes off early in the morning. The news is playing quietly on the T.V. but he isn't really watching it. He finds Stiles at the door. He's got a bag of scones and sleep bruises under his eyes the size of saucers. He looks older; face thinner, than any teenager has the right to look.

"Allison isn't up yet," Chris tells him. Stiles hands the bag to him and writes, 'I know. She's not a morning person,' on his whiteboard. Chris raises his eyebrows. The scones smell delicious and fresh.

"I'm not waking her."

Stiles shrugs and steps into the house, not minding at all apparently that Chris hasn't moved out of the way. He heads to the kitchen. Chris follows.

Stiles pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter, eyes closed, nose barely above the rim of the mug. They sit at the kitchen island and eat scones together. Stiles is surprisingly helpful with the Bee's crossword puzzle.

 

Stiles gets Allison hooked on some online video game. They sit together in the living room and play like the other is not even in the room. Chris will never understand teenagers.

 

Allison gets her stitches removed on a Wednesday. Stiles is in the waiting room, scratching at the bandage over his throat, whiteboard in his lap. He looks as tense as Allison. They sit next to each other and text rapidly while they wait. When Stiles is called, he gives Allison a wane smile and shoves his phone into his pocket before following the nurse.

He comes out after Allison has gone in to the doctor on her own. She refused to let Chris come with her. Stiles has a new, smaller bandage on his neck and a sucker. When he sits down next to Chris, the sparkly smiley face sticker on his chest flashes in Chris' eyes.

 

Chris accidentally startles Stiles in the middle of the night. The painful and unnatural noise that come out of Stiles' mouth feature in Chris' mind for days after. Stiles coughs after, flecks of blood and hard brown stuff landing on his palms. He mimes drinking and Chris runs to get a glass of water.

Stiles slides down the wall, glass in hand, panting. Chris stands nearby and watches, feeling guilty for having caused Stiles pain even if the idiot was walking around Chris' house in the middle of the night.

 

Stiles' favorite donut is a bacon covered long John. It looks disgusting but Chris tries a bite anyway. He spits it out. Allison and Stiles laugh. Chris wonders what Stiles' actual laugh sounds like.  

 

[July]

 

The doorbell rings and flashes. Chris looks up from the newspaper and sets his cup of coffee down. He frowns because he doesn't know who that would be. Stiles is upstairs in Allison's room, sleeping, and Scott usually stops by in the evenings when he's finished work. Chris stands, hopes it's not Derek, and walks out of the kitchen to the front door.

His hopes are in vain.

Derek stands there, looking the same as he always does when he pays his visits. Guilty. For no damn reason. It makes Chris angry anyway. Derek doesn't get to take this away from Allison; this is hers and hers alone. Chris just stares at him and thinks if anyone should feel guilty it's him for wanting Allison to take Derek up on his offer.

"Can I talk to Allison?"

Chris' hand tightens on the door, hit with a misplaced rage. He can't fix Allison or Stiles or Danny with it. Or without it. He is doomed in his rage and helplessness.

"She's sleeping."

Derek shakes his head, lips pouted strangely.

"They're up."

Chris clenches his jaw.

"No."

"Too bad. I can hear her coming."

Chris almost punches him on principle. He doesn't want Allison to have to start the day this way.  He glares at Derek for no other reason than he can. Derek is an adult; Chris can treat him however the hell he wants.

There are footsteps on the landing but they're not Allison's. Chris knows what hers sound like. He turns. Stiles stands at the top, jaw clenched, staring at Derek.

"Stiles–"

The look on Derek's face disturbs Chris on some level. This longing and desperation. Chris shifts his eyes between Stiles and Derek while Stiles walks down the stairs, whiteboard swinging. He doesn’t like this. Stiles is a minor and has had enough grief for a lifetime.

"It would make you better, heal you."

Derek sounds as desperate as he looks. Stiles communicates nothing.

"You'd be able to speak again."

Stiles gets to the door and shoos Chris away from it. He writes one thing on his whiteboard, goes over it a few times, and flips it so Derek can see.

**NO.**

He slams the door in Derek's face.

"Why are you doing this? You could be normal!"

Stiles writes rapidly on his board, Chris waits, knowing somehow it's for him.

"There's no such thing as normal for a werewolf," He reads, "I don't want any of your crap."

There's a thunk on the door, possibly Derek's hand, possibly his head.

"Please, Stiles."

Stiles erases what he's written, writes again. Chris waits.

"Just leave us alone."

"Don't do this," Derek says, quiet.

Stiles flips the board, erases what he's written, writes something Chris can't see, and opens the door. He holds it out. Derek is silent for a few moments, takes a shaky breath. Chris hears his feet head away from the door. Stiles shuts it, erases what he's written before Chris can see, and writes something else.

How does French toast sound?

"I don't now how to make that."

Stiles erases, writes: I do. Go get Allison?

Chris nods and heads for the stairs, wondering what exactly Stiles wrote that made Derek leave.

 

 

"I WISH WE COULD GO TO THE SAME SCHOOL," Allison is saying when Chris gets home. She hasn't figured out what feels loud or quiet yet, the doctor said it would take some time. He assumes she's talking to Stiles. They spend nearly every day together now, some with, some without, Scott. Chris assumes that the kid has taken on more hours in an effort to be able to make it through the school year without being too strapped for cash.

He shuts the garage door, juggles the grocery bags in his arms, and walks towards the kitchen. Allison and Stiles are sitting at the kitchen table. It looks like he's braiding her hair, a small smile on his face. Chris has become slightly more worried about Allison and Stiles' relationship. His and Allison's therapist says it's normal. Sometimes people who go through experiences like what they went through end up bonding into very close friendships. She said to be careful though. Sometimes it gets unhealthy.

 

Stiles spends more days and nights with Allison than anything else. They do nearly everything together. Chris probably should mind more but it gets Allison to talk and laugh. Most importantly, he gets woken up less by her crying in the middle of the night. If that's because Stiles wakes up first or she cries less, Chris is in the dark.

 

Chris takes Allison and Stiles to a renaissance faire. It's hot and Stiles keeps having to fix his bandages. They get a lot of stares. Allison with her symmetrical scars on the sides of her face, right next to her ears and Stiles with his big white bandage across his throat. They both get increasingly uncomfortable with it. Chris buys them camel rides and deep-fried Oreos. Soon they're having enough fun that it almost looks like they've forgotten about it.

Stiles gets himself and Allison wooden swords and Chris says nothing when they begin sparring, too glad to hear Allison laugh and smile. He feels a smaller amount of relief at Stiles' grins, the way he doesn't seem to care that Allison is beating his ass. They break when she see the kettle corn stand.

Allison signs something to Stiles. It's slow and takes a few tries but Stiles eventually nods enthusiastically back. Chris trails after them, possibly less bored and irritated than he should be with having brought two teenagers to a renaissance faire.

He watches a few feet behind Allison when they walk up to the stand. Allison points at one of the bags, Stiles nods, she turns to the man behind the counter.

"HOW MUCH DO They cost?"

She's getting better at not shouting already.

"Five dollars," the man says, a slightly confused look on his face. He's staring at her stitches. She turns to Stiles, he raises five fingers. She nods and pulls out her wallet. The man is staring at Stiles' neck, not even trying to be subtle about it. Chris can see how uncomfortable it's making him. She hands over the money and Stiles grabs the bag with one hand, moving his other in the sign for 'thank you.'

The man shakes his head, Chris steps forward. Allison is looking at the man, waiting for her change. Stiles signs it again, mouthing the words during. He looks more confused and maybe a little insulted.

Chris puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"He said thank you."

Allison looks over, frowns at Chris. He smiles at her.

"Oh. Can he, uh, not speak?"

Chris stares at him flatly. The man shifts in his seat, Allison's change in his hand.

"Will you give her her change now?"

"Yeah, sorry."

He hands it over.

"Do you know how to say you're welcome?"

"He can hear."

"Oh. YOU… ARE… _WELCOME_."

Stiles grins uneasily and nods. Allison asks what? at them. Chris shakes his head and she frowns. With slower hands than she had used, he tells her he’ll explain later. She doesn't look happy with that.

 

Chris has come to realize that he never sees Stiles with his dad. He wonders what that's about but ends up chalking it up to work.

 

A light flashes in Allison's room twice when he pushes the button next to it. She's asleep in bed and Stiles is sleeping on the air mattress he has no idea where they got. He knows he should probably make a fuss about a boy staying in her room but he can't muster up the energy. Allison shifts in her sleep, a frown on her face. Stiles waves at Chris. It doesn't look like he was sleeping.

Stiles isn't wearing a shirt, the scars he got from their imprisonment on display across his chest and stomach. It's not the first time he's seen them but it is the first time he notices how strong Stiles looks. He's got muscle that Chris never expected, his chest already showing signs of the virile man that Stiles is becoming.

"There's coffee and breakfast downstairs," Chris says, trying to keep his eyes on Stiles' face. Not looking too long at the dark red and puffy scars on Stiles' neck is a skill he's perfected for the most part but he can't stop looking at his torso, nearly uncontrollably drawn to the light, already turning white hook shaped scar that cuts slightly into the hair low on his stomach. Stiles nods, sits up, and yawns. He stretches his arms and twists his torso enough to bend the hook shaped scar. The yawn rattles a little, sounds wet and strange. Chris wonders if any noise Stiles can make will sound like that.

Chris shakes himself out of staring and walks down the hall before he can start again.

 

There are footsteps nearing the kitchen a little after Chris sits down at the table. Stiles walks in alone, wearing a shirt. Chris frowns.

"Where's Allison?"

Stiles tells him she wanted to sleep some more with the iPad he replaced his whiteboard with. The voice it speaks with is slightly stilted and older than Stiles' would sound. Not for the first time, Chris misses the sound of Stiles' voice. He sits down next to Chris like it's the most normal thing in the world. It almost is.

 

Chris is sitting in his office. He's supposed to be doing his books for June but he's not. He's listening to Allison practice lip reading with Stiles. Her words are interspersed with silence and, every once in a while, clapping.

 

The doctors say there's nothing they can do to get Allison's hearing back, the damage is too extensive. She'll never hear again. Allison is trying not to cry, her grip so tight on Chris' hand that it hurts. The doctor apologizes and leaves the exam room. Chris pulls his daughter against his chest and pets her hair, saying words she can't hear while she keeps trying not to cry. Her fingers bunch the fabric of his shirt and she shakes.

He keeps speaking, running his hands over her head and back, hoping that at least the vibration of his words through his chest might calm her.

 

That night Chris gets woken, not for the first time, by the sounds of Allison crying. He knows she tries to be quiet but she's not. Chris lays there and doesn't move, knowing that if she were to find out he could hear her now, like this, that it would make it worse. He knows she tries to be strong. Chris can't figure out how to tell her that crying doesn't make her weak.  

 

He tries to go to a support group for people with deaf children. He listens to them talk about how it's the worst thing in the world, about how hard it is. Some of them bring their children with. Chris doesn't like it. Not because the kids are deaf but because of the way they talk. It depresses him even more to think that one day Allison might sound the same; that she might forget what words sound like.

 

Chris comes home from a weapons convention to Allison and Stiles attempting to teach Scott sign language. He's doing better at it than Chris would have expected. He walks towards his office instead of interrupting.

There's a noise like the scuff of a shoe behind him when he sets the lockbox full of cash and receipts down. Chris turns and Stiles is standing there. He waves with a smile at Chris, asks him how his trip was.

Chris responds with “Good,” and “Tiring.” Stiles asks him if he needs any help unloading the trunk. Chris almost says no but he thinks Stiles just wants a break from Allison and Scott. Chris knows he would, too if he had to watch them be so... Together.

With Stiles' help, unloading the cargo takes half the time it would have even with the added task of telling him where it all goes.

 

Afterwards, Stiles sits down on the ground of the garage next to Chris' SUV, leaning against it. Chris joins.

It's quiet in a good way, not the usual painful silence that Chris usually experiences around Stiles or Allison. After a few seconds, Stiles rifles through his pockets and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Chris raises both eyebrows.

"Are you old enough for those?"

Stiles smiles and reaches into a pocket, pulls out his wallet, and hands Chris his ID.

Huh. He's eighteen. That's unexpected.

Chris squints at the name on the card.

"Is that really your first name?"

Chris tries to pronounce it. Stiles' chest shakes and abrupt breaths come out of his mouth. Chris grins and hands over the ID, strangely glad to have made Stiles laugh.

"Can I have one of those then?"

He points to the cigarettes. Stiles pulls one out for himself and offers the pack to Chris. He takes one while Stiles lights his up. He feels it uncomfortably intimate when Stiles holds up the lighter, flame still going for him to light his. He has to lean over to reach it a little bit and he can't help noticing how long Stiles' fingers are.

"You know, these are bad for you," Chris says on the exhale.

Stiles replies with: my career as a rock star singer is ruined.

It's Chris' turn to laugh.  

 

Scott comes over and picks Allison up for a day trip to Monterey. They're going to the boardwalk together. Chris hasn't seen Allison that excited in a long time.

 

Stiles comes over a little after they leave, backpack slung over one shoulder. He has his phone hanging upside down around his neck on a long cord. Chris would think this odd but Stiles has been coming over so much that it's a strangely comforting piece of normalcy.

It turns out that the backpack is full of movies and junk food.

They watch Thor, sharing a bowl of popcorn and a large bag of M&MS. Halfway through the second movie (Captain America) Chris realizes that he might actually be friends with Allison's boyfriend's best friend.

That should sound weirder to him than it does.

 

Chris runs into Stiles at the library when he's returning a book. Stiles waves him over to his table where he has an assortment of books that don't seem to have anything in common in front of him.

He ends up staying there for an hour longer than he meant to, sitting next to Stiles, reading about the dark ages, Protestants, and colonization in Africa. They write notes back and forth, interspersed with basic sign language. He ends up having to stifle laughs more than once.

Chris leaves with The Color Purple under his arm and directions to a burger joint where he's going to pick up burgers and shakes for the two of them to eat while they watch The Orphanage.

He should really get some friends his own age.

 

At this point, Chris just expects Stiles to be at his house. It doesn't feel right when he's not, too silent, too empty.

 

It's a Tuesday when Scott stops a few feet from Chris, nose wrinkled, confusion plain on his face. They're in the kitchen, Scott helping Chris carry out dishes of food.

"You smell like Stiles," he says and Chris' shoulders tense. He doesn't know why he feels like he's been caught doing something wrong. Aside from the obvious of being, dare he even say, friends with a teenage boy. He's hyper-aware already of how something like that would seem from the outside.

"He is here a lot."

Scott shakes his head, bowl of stuffing in his hands.

"That's different. Do you two..." Scott trails off; face uncomfortable while Chris tries not to let his heart do something suspicious. There's nothing actually wrong with what he does with Stiles but he still feels like there is. "Hang out?" Scott finishes.

Chris picks up the ham carefully.

"Like I said, he's here a lot."

Throughout the dinner, Scott keeps looking at him with this strange considering look on his face.

It makes Chris itch.

 

A week later he comes home to find Derek's car in front of his house. Chris doesn't bother pull into the garage, just puts it in park in the driveway and leaves the groceries in the SUV. The front door isn't even closed; hanging wide open to a scene that makes Chris' heart beat in a way that hurts.

Derek has Stiles boxed in against the wall, arms up to keep him from being able to move. He's saying something Chris can't hear. It almost looks like they're kissing which does something foreign and a little scary to Chris. He's more than tempted to pull the gun he carries at the small of his back in a holster that isn't all that legal on Derek and shoot him.

Derek shifts on his feet, taking one of his hands off the wall to fist the material of Stiles' shirt. His change in position is enough to allow Chris to see Stiles' face. The sheer level of anger he's radiating is enough to make Chris feel justified in pulling his gun if it weren't for some part of his expression that Chris either can't or refuses to read.

Chris wonders where the hell Allison is.

"Just listen to me for once. All I'm asking is that you hear me out."

Stiles shakes his head and Chris edges carefully around Derek's back, far enough away that he'd have a chance of retaliating if Derek pulled something.

"Stiles," Chris says slowly, "You want me to take out the trash?"

Chris might feel sorry about his comment if it were anyone else, anyone human. But not Derek. Not him or his pack. He knows they didn't actually do anything wrong yet but he knows it's just a matter of time.

Stiles stills, stares at Derek and Derek stares back. He nods once and that's all the invitation that Chris needs. He pulls out his gun and trains it on Derek.

"Leave or I will make you leave. Whether that's in a garbage bag or by your own volition doesn't really matter to me."

A muscle in Derek's jaw twitches when he looks at Chris, eyes dark and brow furrowed. He almost looks betrayed. Chris could laugh.

Derek sends one last look at Stiles and from this angle Chris can see the plea on his face. He really might laugh. Chris pushes the safety off. Derek huffs and shakes his head.

"Just think about it," Derek says, hand smoothing over the wrinkles he made in Stiles' shirt. He leaves.

Chris stands by the door, gun hand hidden from sight by the wall and watches until Derek's well out of sight. He puts the safety back on his gun and tucks it into his holster, turning to look at Stiles.

... Who isn't there. Chris looks around, sure that he'd been there just a few seconds ago, bewildered on how he could have slipped out without Chris noticing.

Allison comes down the stairs frown on her face.

"Dad? Have you seen Stiles? He was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago."

He smiles at her, surreptitiously fixing his shirt and shakes his head.

"Help me with the groceries?" He asks signing it out as best he can while speaking. She bites her lip, eyes narrowed, before nodding. He brings them in and she unpacks them, frown never leaving her face. Chris spends the whole time wondering where Stiles went and what was going on between him and Derek.

 

There's someone in his backyard and the only reason he knows is because he caught the flash of a lighter out the window when he was passing by. It's nine o'clock and the house is empty. Allison is out bowling with Scott and some of her friends. It's the first time she's been out with more than just him (and or) Stiles, or Scott. He's happy for her. And scared. Now, more than he ever was before, he's scared for her when she leaves the house without him. He's been living in this constant state of fear; always scared someone will try to take her away again.

Chris pulls out his crossbow and steps out into the backyard, hoping it's just something innocuous like trespassing high schoolers or, best, Stiles.

He's laying in Chris' yard, blowing smoke rings above himself.

"Don't you have a home of your own," Chris says, dropping the crossbow to his side. Stiles blows out a small smoke ring and waves lazily to Chris. He puts his cigarette between his lips and signs that he likes Chris' better.

Chris sits next to Stiles, sets his crossbow to the side, and steals Stiles' cigarette. Stiles slaps his knee with the back of his hand and tells Chris he's rude.

Chris just blows smoke in his face.

 

[August]

 

Chris takes Allison, Stiles, and Lydia back to school shopping at the beginning of the month. It takes him about five minutes to figure out that Lydia is an expert in sign language. Apparently she had a weekend free. This would make Chris feel incompetent but he's learned by now that Lydia's intellect is never something to underestimate.

It's mostly Stiles and Chris watching Lydia shoot down everything Allison holds up and one stop at the Macy's men's department where Stiles takes about half an hour to pick out some clothes and shoes right before they head to the office supply store.

The only moment of interest in the entire ordeal is when Stiles brandishes a dress at Lydia and she smiles, nods, and tells him he has great taste before giving him a peck on the cheek. Stiles' face for the next hour is something completely goofy and ridiculous.

 

 

They celebrate the week before the start of the semester that Stiles has officially been cleared and set for going to BHHS. It's a happy night for Stiles because the school threatened two weeks before the start of term to not accept him due to his disability.

Stiles' animated signing and grin don't stop Chris from noticing that his eyes have deep and dark sleep bruises under them or how his smile doesn't quite reach even the rings around his eyes.

 

Chris tells Allison on her first day that she can stay home if she doesn't think she's ready. She just smiles at him nervously.

 

He stays home all day and occupies himself with easily abandoned tasks in case she calls and needs to come home early.

 

Chris finds her in the driveway an hour after she should have been home, staring at her phone with the engine idling. He pushes on the car with one hand, waving with the other until he gets her attention. She jumps, arms flying, and punches the window. Chris gives her a thumbs up. That was a good, albeit funny, reaction.

He asks her why she's sitting in her car. She tells him Stiles is running late. A feeling of worry overtakes him.

After a few minutes, and some really inventive pantomiming on Chris' part, they both go inside and wait on the couch. Allison chews off three of her nails before Chris hears her phone go off. He reads it over her shoulder.

[Got detention. Be there quick.]

 

A week later Stiles is still serving detentions after school. Apparently the school has a no tolerance policy for violence. He punched a classmate in the face when they made a joke about his silence. Chris could laugh, knowing what's gone on at that school.

 

Allison is spending the night at Lydia's. Or so Chris hopes. He has the house to himself and it just feels wrong. He prowls around with nothing to do, wishing for a distraction. His phone chirps.

[Just watched the latest GOT ep. Cannot even.]

He responds with more enthusiasm than he should.

[I liked the bit with the bear.]

[Of course you did.]

[Brienne was amazing.]

[She's a badass. Jaime and her should ride off into the sunset kicking ass.]

Chris raises his eyebrows, surprised.

[You like Jaime?]

While he waits for a reply, Chris opens a beer and perches on the stool. He stares at the too-clinical tidiness of his kitchen.

[Dont judge. He's a total babe.]

Chris snorts, sips on his beer with one hand and replies with the other. His heart is beating weirdly.

[Anything can be forgiven for a pretty face.]

[In fiction? Yes.]

Chris restrains himself from asking if he could ever be forgiven.

 

Allison grows more and more distant as the semester goes on. Stiles tells him that she is having trouble adjusting to her new school. Chris wishes there was something he could do.

 

Scott takes her almost every weekend to the coast. San Francisco, Stinson Beach, Monterey... 17 Mile drive seems to be her favorite. The two of them go there the most. Chris buys Scott an AAA membership just in case. He gets the one with the most towing miles.

While he's at it he checks how many points he's racked up on his credit card for redemption. As it is, his untouched points could buy a few tickets to the Bahamas and cover a couple nights at an all-inclusive resort. Chris plans on giving her two plane tickets and a week there for an end of the school year trip.

He knows on some level he can't buy her love but it doesn't stop him from trying. He misses his little girl.

 

Chris buys a projector and installs one of those pull down screens on the outside of the house. While Allison is at school one Friday, he sets it up, drags out some weird chairs he found at the Goodwill and waits patiently to surprise her.

Stiles suggests he get Amélie because it'll already be subtitled so no one will miss out.

 

When Allison gets home at six, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Scott, Stiles, and Chris are waiting for her.

Allison laughs out loud- something that's become more and more rare as time has gone by– and hugs Chris. Chris sits at the back, next to the projector and watches his daughter laugh and talk to her friends. Lydia acts as an interpreter for Jackson and Isaac. Neither of the two knows sign language. Chris wonders how they manage to keep up their friendship when they can't easily talk with each other.

 

Allison has her head against Scott's shoulder. Chris almost doesn't want to punch him anymore.

When the movie is over, everyone but Scott and Stiles bow out. Allison is inside somewhere with Scott, hopefully not getting into some kind of trouble.

Chris starts to clean up, Stiles wordlessly pacing from chair to chair, picking up cushions and putting them into storage bags. Chris hadn't asked him to help but he'd expected it anyway.

 

Fridays quickly become flick night. Chris should have seen this coming.

 

After two weeks Stiles stops wearing the high collared shirts and scarves that he had been. There's a notable drop in the amount of time he spends in detention.

 

Tuesday evening half way through the fall semester, Chris gets an urgent text from Stiles. How he knows it's urgent is that Chris gets the same message four times in a row.

[Broke down on Baseline. Ttrow co won't accept TTY calls.]

[Broke down on Baseline. Ttrow co won't accept TTY calls.]

[Broke down on Baseline. Ttrow co won't accept TTY calls.]

[Broke down on Baseline. Ttrow co won't accept TTY calls.]

 

 

Chris already has his keys in hand before the third one comes through.

 

When he arrives, Stiles is sitting on the curb, legs spread out into the bike lane, knees bent, leaning back on one arm, and blowing smoke rings above his head. Chris almost plows in to Stiles' Jeep.

He calls the tow truck company and acts as an intermediate for Stiles. The guy says they have a three-hour wait. It's hot as shit but neither of them think to sit in Chris' air-conditioned SUV while waiting.

Stiles ends up unbuttoning his plaid over-shirt. Chris decidedly doesn't stare at the way his white tank top clings to his sweating chest.

 

In Chris' SUV on the way to the repair shop, Chris tries not to think about whether or not he was Stiles' first resort or last. He won't think on why that matters to him.

He's been spending a lot of energy on trying not to think about things lately.

 

His and Allison's therapist asks why he dislikes Scott so much. Chris honestly cannot find a way to explain it to her without sounding bigoted. She tells him that's something he should think about. She gives him homework: List ten positive and negative things about Scott. It's on top of his standard list of things he should feel happy about.

The second list is always the same. At this point he isn't even sure why she keeps telling him to do it.

All it is is Allison's name ten times.

 

On an impulse, Chris buys one of those E-Cigs at the gas station at three in the morning. He wraps it in scraps of Christmas paper left over from years previous. He thinks Stiles will appreciate the humor in out of season wrapping paper.

He does.

 

The last stragglers of the hunting crew that came with them when they moved in finally get tired of the quiet and leave, finally realizing that no more werewolves are probably going to be harassed or killed in the foreseeable future.

Jason's parting words are that Chris is going soft.

Chris watches his daughter push food around on her plate at dinner that night and can't help but agree.

He's maybe fine with this.

 

 

[September]

The grass in the fields around town and in the flat areas where nothing else will grow start to turn from the unnatural burnt brown of Summer to the slightly more pleasant tinge of brown they get in Autumn.

Chris starts to sneak out when Allison is at school to buy Just For Men because he is vain enough to dislike the gray hairs he's started to find in his hair. There's nothing he can do about the wisps of gray in his chest hair and he isn't stupid enough to dye his pubes.

 

Allison starts dying her hair an auburn color. When it's wet it looks like fur matted with blood. She's starting to wear her bangs long and just over her eyes. Chris doesn't miss how its style allows her to cover up the scars on the side of her face.

 

In keeping with the change of hair, Stiles grows his out. The extra few inches add a color and depth that Chris was not expecting. It looks lush and strangely inviting. Chris doesn't miss how it makes him seem older.

 

Scott cuts his shorter, starts putting something in it to make it stick up.

It appears they all have a theme going.

 

Allison gets suspended for punching a boy from one of her classes in the face. She won't talk to Chris about it.

 

Their therapist tells Chris to try to add some variety to his list of things to be happy about.

Maybe out of spite he puts down on it that his weapons business has never been more successful.

 

It's Friday night and the usual crowd of teenagers is over at his house. Chris has long since ceded control of the projector and movie choice to Stiles. This week the movie is Up. 

 

Chris sits next to Stiles and shares his popcorn with him. Every once in a while Scott looks back with this concerned frown. Stiles makes faces at him.

 

Allison's doctor calls when she's at school. He leaves a message that her birth control needs to be refilled. Chris accidentally on purpose throws a plate or three at the wall next to the phone. He can't remember if he decided to throw them or not.

 

Stiles doesn't show up for a week and when he comes back his knuckles are bruised and scabbed over. He doesn't tell Chris anything, just throws his backpack at a chair and sidles up to the opposite side of the counter.

Chris doesn't ask. All he does is slide the cutting board full of carrots over to Stiles then goes back to peeling potatoes. Some of the tension bleeds out of Stiles' shoulders while he cuts.

 

Scott's mother annoys Chris. He doesn't have a reason to dislike her... Aside from the fact that her werewolf son is dating his daughter.  She brings him a casserole of enchiladas and he thanks her with a tight mouth. She ruffles Stiles' hair and tells him the "new do" makes him look quite handsome.

 

Chris takes to collecting the glass bottles that they would normally throw away. Once the Tupperware gets full of them he takes them into the basement and throws them at the wall while Allison is at school. The sight of the bottles shattering on impact is some sort of worrying catharsis for Chris. How they echo around the underground room is just a bonus.

 

Allison gets detention for "rude gestures" in class. Chris would start to worry but he isn't sure he ever stopped.

 

He starts waking up in the middle of the night sweating and panting. He isn't sure if he's having nightmares or wet dreams. He can't remember them.

 

Allison kicks a dent into the driver’s side door of her car so hard she has to go to the ER for a foot X-ray.

 

The fragile decorative items in their house such as vases and glass nick knacks become an endangered species.

 

Allison spends more and more nights over at "Lydia's". Sometimes he thinks she's actually there.

 

Chris starts going to bars on nights that she's gone. He lets drunken strangers pick him up and do what they will to him. It never seems to satisfy. Well, it does but never enough to stop him from going back again.

 

Until Randall. Randall is tall, dark haired, and has hazel eyes. He's covered in freckles and has the most ironic smile of anyone Chris has ever met, second only to Stiles.

Randall is low maintenance and doesn't care that Chris has a daughter in high school or that he still wears his wedding ring. He likes to make Chris come, doesn't ask about the gun Chris always has, and he isn't in to cuddling. He also doesn't want to be in Chris' life. They meet, they talk, the drink, they fuck, and Chris leaves. He never stays the night and Randall doesn't seem to mind that.

He's exactly what Chris wants.

 

Allison starts going to the gun range weekly. Chris gets a discount there so he's fine with it. She can't go alone, though. Safety first. He doesn't want her to anyway. There are some skeevy men there, as Stiles puts it the time he goes with them. Most of the people who work there recognize Stiles.

One of them makes a joke that he almost didn't recognize Stiles because her wasn't mouthing off. Stiles' smile grows tight and there's an awkward moment while Chris, Allison, and Stiles wait until the guy realizes how rude that statement is.

He doesn't or if he did he says nothing about it.

 

It turns out Stiles isn't a bad shot. Not great, but pretty damn decent.

 

Chris runs into Randall at Cero's pizza on Friday night when he's picking up an order of five extra large pizzas. He almost doesn't recognize him, so used to seeing him in the middle of the night in dingy bars or at his place. It's a little off-putting but the man has to exist when he's not fucking Chris.

He can't help but feel it a little rude for Randall to address him.

 

Stiles asks him if anything happened when he was out and Chris shakes his head and tells Stiles to watch the movie. This week it's Star Wars.

 

Somehow, it just seems natural to add Stiles' name to his list of things to be happy about. His therapist dedicates a whole session to this. Chris thinks she's concerned but all he gets from it is that he shouldn't talk about Stiles to her.

 

That night after Allison has fallen asleep Chris takes the glass bottles that've collected from the last few days and throws them. He's on his fourth when the basement door opens.

Stiles waves.

"I didn't know you were here," Chris says, coke bottle held up by his ear. Stiles asks him when is he not here. Chris lowers his arm.

"When you're at school. I think you sometimes sleep somewhere else."

Stiles snorts and plods down the steps. Even that doesn't sound... Normal. Chris fidgets with the bottle in his hand. He wonders if normal is the right word. Chris' definition of normal has always been... Askew.

Stiles is wearing a pair of loose pajama bottoms that Chris knows he keeps in Allison's dresser. They're forest green and match the top he isn't wearing.

He signs Mind if I? And points at the container full of glass.

"Knock yourself out. Just– not literally please."

Stiles rolls his eyes and picks up a jar. He wings it at the wall. It shatters on impact, spraying little pieces of red stained glass over the concrete.

"Nice."

Chris' bottle hits next to where Stiles' did. He turns to look at Stiles who shrugs with his whole face and one shoulder, raising his left arm and shaking his hand in a gesture to mean not bad.

At this point it's only natural to turn it into a competition.

 

Scott and Stiles are playing a game of pick up lacrosse in Chris' backyard while he makes chicken tortilla soup. Allison sits at the kitchen counter and practices reading Braille. He doesn't know why she's learning it. Chris rarely has an idea of what she's doing now. It hurts more than it should. She had always been his little girl. His princess hunter. She could have been Diana, goddess of the hunt and moon. Now... Now she's missing a key sense necessary to hunt.

Her godhead was surgically removed with a cruelty that baffles Chris.

 

Chris finally remembers one of his dreams. He wakes up with the memory of Stiles pressed against him, mouthing dirty words into Chris' neck. The sweat trickling down his back almost feels like Stiles' mouth left wet trails against his skin.

He is torn between wishing he didn't remember and wondering how awful a man he is.

 

Stiles is telling him to get the popcorn with extra butter when he hears it.

"Chris! Funny running into you here."

Chris turns away from Stiles. He smiles politely at Randall yet again put off by his presence for no good reason. Running into him when Chris is out with Stiles doing some shopping for movie night is somehow much worse than when alone.

Randall has a cart full of groceries. The condoms sitting on top of the pile make Chris feel hot and scratchy.

"Randall."

Stiles asks who Randall is. Chris automatically signs back that he's sort of a friend. Stiles waves at him, leaning against the cart. He won't let Chris push it.

"That your kid? I thought you had a daughter."

Chris shakes his head.

"He's... A friend of hers."

Randall eyes their cart and waves back at Stiles.

"Looks like you two are planning a fun night."

Chris moves a little away from the cart.

"Friday nights are movie nights for Allison and her friends."

Randall looks between Stiles and Chris.

"Oh. I thought she was..."

"Deaf. She is."

"And– him?"

Stiles shakes his head, mouths 'mute'. Randall frowns.

"Not deaf."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Stiles raises his eyebrows and puffs up his mouth. Chris stares at Stiles. He moves like he's laughing, little strange sounds leaving his mouth. When he stops he massages his throat.

Randall raises his eyebrows.

"What're you doing here anyway, Randall? You don't live around here."

Randall smiles, a weird glint in his eyes.

"What movie are you watching this week?"

"RED."

He never answers Chris' question.

 

Chris wakes up a few days later on the couch. What he's laying on is warm, solid, and definitely male. He shifts a little so that the collarbone he has his face on isn't digging into his cheek. His lips accidentally brush against. There's a sizzle of want that rushes through him like radiation when whoever it is shivers. He runs gentle fingers through Chris' hair. Chris’ eyes almost open but the hand lulls him back to sleep.

The last thing he remembers thinking is that Stiles smells nice.

 

Stiles doesn't show up for three days after that and when he does there's scrapes on his knuckles and a bruise on his cheek. His lip is bleeding. Chris absolutely doesn't stare. Not even when Stiles drinks a whole bottle of water with two pills in the kitchen, throat working to swallow it all, a thin trickle of blood moving down his chin.

 

It's become a thing with them. Every Saturday morning Stiles and Chris do the crossword from the Bee while eating whatever baked goods Stiles shows up with.

Chris starts saving puzzles from the weekdays and Stiles brings more food. Chris doesn't know if they both have similar agendas of making the morning last longer.

 

Allison sprains her wrist on a mirror at school. She has to get stitches for cuts the broken glass made because only werewolves can get away with being hurt. She has to wear a brace on her hand and arm because a regular bandage would rub against her stitches. She won't tell Chris why but Stiles knows. He won't tell Chris what happened.

 

[Wacha watchin]

Randall's lack of proper grammar annoys Chris more than it should.

[Tangled.]

Stiles throws popcorn at Chris' face, aiming for his mouth. He's as bored with the movie as Chris is but Allison and Scott both seem to be enjoying it.

[Bet ur tired a kid movies]

Stiles fist bumps when his next kernelized missile lands in Chris' mouth.

[Can't win them all.] 

Chris tosses a handful of popcorn at Stiles' open mouth. He spits the ones that make it back at Chris and Chris hits Stiles with the back of his hand on the shoulder. Stiles' chest shakes, split lip spread wide in a smile.

[U could cum by n we can make a movie not suitable for kids... ;) ]

Chris ignores the message. He's got a popcorn fight to win. Before the night is over Stiles eats popcorn he picked out of Chris' hair. Chris calls him gross and ignores the looks that Scott has been shooting them.

 

He invites himself over to Randall's place when Stiles doesn't show up the next Saturday morning.

"Fuck yes. You like my fat cock, huh. God, you just couldn't wait, could you?"

Instead of telling him he has a small dick, Chris closes his eyes and pretends he's with someone else.

4 across, miserably or contemptibly inadequate, eight letters.

He's pathetic.

Chris isn't sure if he means Randall or himself.

 

The next time Derek comes by it's Sunday morning. Allison is in Fortuna with Scott.

"She's not here," Chris says with no preamble. Derek frowns.

"I hear her heartbeat."

Chris' grip tightens on the door and he wishes Stiles doesn't choose now to come downstairs. He claimed he'd be a moment. Chris hopes that moment isn't now. He shakes his head. Derek rolls his eyes.

"Just let me talk to her."

"How many times does she have to turn you down before it sticks?"

Derek opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. He looks past Chris. An expression of confused revulsion comes over him. The confusion is not an unnatural look for him.

"No means no, Derek," a happily robotic voice says. Chris turns to see Stiles standing on the stairs, hair sleep rumpled and pajama pants hanging low on his hips with his phone in hand.

"What-"

"You heard him," Chris interjects. He slams the door in Derek's face.

It's not until later that Chris realizes that the revulsion he saw could be because of the hickey on Stiles' chest. Derek probably thinks that Chris put it there.

He doesn't know why that amuses him or how come it makes him feel embarrassed.

 

For the rest of the day he acts nervous around Stiles for no reason, jumping whenever Stiles so much as slaps Chris' shoulder.

He never realized before how much physical contact they made.

 

[October]

 

Chris is sitting in the patio with a beer watching Stiles swat mosquitoes and flies with the electric bug zapper. He claims it's to protect the ribs he's barbecuing but Chris can tell the act has some enjoyment of its own. He jumps, pivots and makes overly dramatic fake karate moves.

Stiles sits down next to Chris, panting, and swipes his beer. Chris gives him a skeptical look. He grins at Chris and takes a swig.

"I'd tell you to get your own but that's illegal."

He takes it back. Stiles pouts. The yard is full of the smell of cooking meat and the sounds of cicadas and frogs. The chirping is relaxing.

Stiles tells Chris he should go get him one.

"Not a chance."

Stiles steals his bottle again. Chris picks up the bug zapper and taps his shoulder with it. Stiles jerks, dropping the bottle with a wet rattling noise. The glass shatters on the cement of the patio. Stiles flinches so much his chair lifts up on two legs.

After a few silent, tense, moments Stiles stands, chair scraping against the cement. Chris carefully sets the bug zapper down, horrified at what he's done.

Stiles returns with a broom and dustpan. He doesn't meet Chris' eyes jaw tight as he sweeps. Chris feels terrible.

When Stiles goes to check on the ribs Chris heads into the house. He pulls two bottles of beer out of the fridge, pops the caps off, and walks back outside.

"Here," he says, holding one of the bottles out to Stiles. "Don't," he says once Stiles' hand touches it, "Tell Allison."

Stiles grins and clinks the mouths of the bottles together.

They stand there, watching the flames twitch and writhe in the bottom of the barbecue.

"These better be better than those horrible burgers you made."

Stiles glares at him before tapping the bottom of his beer against the top of Chris'. It froths over and Chris has to put his mouth over it to keep from wasting too much.

He glares at Sties until Stiles can't seem to help making this quick tisking noise, grin splitting his face.  

Chris' irritation nearly evaporates at the sound of Stiles’ laugh.

 

"FUCK!"

Chris jerks from the light snooze he had accidentally fallen into at his desk and stands. He's in the living room in time to see Allison punch the wall obviously not for the first time if the current dents in it are anything to go by and scream again. She kicks it for good measure and screams obscenities.

The house phone is in pieces by the couch, lying in the wreckage of their last nice lamp.

He runs over and restrains her. She fights him a little, throws a punch that connects with his jaw before curling against him and crying.

He holds her. She sobs against his chest, curling her fists into the material of his shirt. Chris herds her over to the couch and sits down. He pets Allison's hair until she cries herself to sleep.

He stays up all night waiting for her to wake, watching Allison sleep like that on his chest.

Chris can't help but remember how when Victoria and him first brought her home from the hospital. She'd only fall asleep on him, tiny hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, drool making his chest damp.

Victoria had declared that she was going to be a daddy's girl. Back then he'd had no doubts about that.

Watching her sleep like this he can't help but wish that she still was that small so he could bundle her up and protect her from the world in a swaddle of fleece and his arms.

 

Chris gets a contract as a security consultant with a company in Gilroy of all places. He has to spend two days there in the middle of the week. He hates being away from Allison but he can't turn down every job offer he gets because it makes him have to spend time away from home.

Chris is sitting in the conference room they set up for him when Stiles texts him.

[Hows Gilroy?]

[Everything smells like garlic.]

[At least you're safe from vampires. ;p]

Chris smiles, pushing aside one set of blueprints and pulling over the company's employee security policy.

[At least vampires would make the place interesting.]

He sets his phone to the side and starts reading the policy.

[U shuld cum over 2nite ;) ]

Chris frowns at his phone, momentarily confused at Stiles' response. His heart thuds briefly against his ribs.

[You know I can't. Since I'm not using it you can sleep in my bed tonight.]

Which would be a vast improvement over that slowly dying air mattress.

[Thats no fun w/o u]

Chris sucks on his teeth, trying to think of a good response to that. He gets another message.

[Careful what you wish for, broski, or you might just get someone sucking on your neck.]

He blinks, stares at his phone, stomach doing back flips. That's when he notices that some of the messages he's received aren't from Stiles. Two of them are from Randall.

He just accidentally told Randall he could sleep in Chris' bed. He almost told Stiles to sleep in his bed. Chris stares at the paperwork in front of him for a good ten minutes trying not to think of the implications behind this.

 

Chris comes home, emotionally and physically exhausted. Allison is out of town, taking advantage of fall break to go on a road trip of the northwest coast with Scott. While he knows they're probably fucking their way up and down the coastline, he can't bring himself to tell her no.

Even if the thought does fill him with the urge to kill.

Chris throws his keys onto the kitchen counter and glares at the clock. He struck out tonight. Randall is pulling overnight shifts all week wherever he works and the bars he went to had no one nearly enticing enough.

There's a thump in his living room. He has his gun out and trained in front of him before he turns and walks into the room.

Stiles is bending over next to the couch, picking up his phone. Chris puts the gun away and most definitely doesn't check out Stiles' ass.

"Shouldn't you be home?"

Stiles stands up. With a flat look on his face, he asks Chris where he's been.

"Out."

Stiles rolls his eyes and makes a comment about how informative he is. There's popcorn on the coffee table and the menu screen for RED is playing on the TV screen. All irritation drains out of Chris. Stiles was waiting for him.

"We've already seen RED."

Stiles glares at him clearly upset at Chris. He walks over to the coffee table and picks up the cold bowl of popcorn.

"Wanna see what's on Pay Per View? Your choice."

Stiles stares for a moment, as if deciding something before nodding. Chris gives him a small smile. He doesn't know why both of them seem to feel as if Chris has to apologize for being out all night.

Stiles picks up the remote and switches the TV back to cable. Chris carries the bowl into the kitchen and dumps out the popcorn. He picks up another bag and puts it into the microwave. He watches the popcorn bag expand in the microwave and doesn't think about how Stiles' ass would feel against his hand and definitely not about how it would feel pressed against Chris.

He's just sexually frustrated from his poor luck this week.

 

Chris wakes up encircled by strong arms, head resting on a warm chest. He doesn't want to move. Whoever is below him smells nice and he's comfortable. Lips graze his forehead and Chris sighs. He feels wonderfully rested even with the hard on he's pushing into the man under him. And it is a man, if the answering length against his hip is anything to go by. It's a nice size, too, from what Chris can feel. He wriggles into a better position, fingers curling into the fabric of Stiles' shirt.

Chris freezes.

That's right. He fell asleep watching TV with Stiles. These are Stiles' arms, his chest, his... God, that's Stiles' fucking prick pressing into his stomach.

His cock decidedly doesn't twitch at the realization of whom he's laying on. Chris bolts off the couch. The last thing he sees before he leaves the living room is Stiles jerking into an upright position, head whipping to the side to follow Chris' flight. He definitely doesn't have a disappointed look on his face.

 

When he gets to his room he tears his shirt off and starts unbuckling his belt while kicking his shoes off. Cold shower. That's what he needs. A nice freezing cold shower.

The cold water doesn't help. He gives up and turns the hot water on. He feels like the biggest pervert in the world with his hand on his prick, unable to push out the memory of Stiles' cock against his stomach, his strong arms around Chris.

 

Stiles is there when Chris gets up the courage to go downstairs. There's a pink box on the kitchen counter and Stiles is standing by the coffee maker, mug in his hands.

Chris tries not to make eye contact even when Stiles hands him a mug.

Stiles made his coffee just how he likes it.

It's a little awkward to sit down at the counter. Stiles pulls the newspaper over to him, sitting in the seat next to Chris, and rifles through it for the crossword. He looks angry. Chris doesn't know why. He hopes he doesn't. Stiles probably thinks he's some disgusting pervert.

He might be right to think of Chris that way because all Chris can think about is how Stiles' lips would taste like coffee if he kissed him right now.

 

[November] 

 

Randall comes over Friday night. He's the first person to sleep with Chris since Victoria. Stiles doesn't count, Chris tells himself. He lays awake with Randall spooned against his side and assuredly doesn't decide that Stiles was a better sleep partner.

Randall snores. Not constantly. It's intermittent. Chris hates the sound.

 

Stiles is there in the morning when Chris gets up. Chris pretends to be surprised but part of him can't help but tell himself that he didn't forget about their unspoken weekly engagement. Chris is only in jeans, chest bare. It almost looks like Stiles is staring.

There are scrambled eggs, whole-wheat toast and his favorite orange marmalade on the table. He goes for the coffee maker and doesn't notice that Stiles has dressed nicer than he normally does. Nice fitting jeans, plain V-neck under a crisp green over shirt that hangs partially open around his neck.

Chris is stirring a touch of sugar into his coffee when he hears someone else enter the room.

"Wow! Nice spread. I should stay over more often."

He turns in time to see Randall lean over the eggs.

"Are those peppers in there?"

Stiles gives Randall a vaguely hostile look and tells him it's salsa. Randall gives Stiles a confused look, watching his hands spell out the words.

"Sorry, kiddo. I don't speak sign language."

Chris takes a sip of his coffee and watches. Stiles tells Randall that he's an idiot, no one _speaks_ sign language. Randall just shakes his head.

"It's salsa, not peppers," Chris says and pulls down two plates from the cupboard automatically. He sets his mug and the plates down.

"Huh. Why would you put salsa in eggs?"

Stiles asks Randall if he has to work hard to be such an idiot or if he was born that way.

"What'd he say?"

Chris spoons some of the eggs on the plates he's gotten out. He flicks his eyes between Stiles and Randall.

"That he likes his eggs with salsa in them."

Stiles makes the tisking noise he uses to indicate snickering. Chris holds back the smile that threatens to ruin it. Stiles tells Chris that he's a liar and Chris tells him that he's rude. Randall has that polite smile on that people get when they don't know what's going on but they think they're being talked about.

Chris remembers halfway through splitting the toast between two plates that Randall expects to be fed as well. He sets down the plate full of toast and asks Stiles to get out another plate. Stiles shakes his head.

Chris asks why. Stiles tells him he made this breakfast for two people. He holds up one finger and turns it towards himself, holds up two and points them at Chris. Not three, he tells Chris, before holding up three fingers and pointing them at Randall.

I know, he tells Stiles, but it would be rude not to feed him.

Stiles rolls his eyes and asks Chris how come he has to feed Chris' boyfriend.

Chris tells Stiles he's not his boyfriend.

Great, Stiles says, why do I have to feed your fuck buddy? Chris gives Stiles a dirty look. Stiles gives one back.

"Will you get down another plate?" He asks out loud. Stiles huffs and tells Chris that was fighting dirty but he goes to get down another plate anyway.

Randall leans against the counter next to Chris and snags one of the triangles of toast.

"What was that about?" He asks, crunching loudly on the toast. The sound of him chewing is annoying.

"What was what about?"

Randall picks up some of the eggs with his hand and puts it on his toast.

"All the," and here he flaps his hand about, "hand signals."

"Nothing."

Stiles sets the plate down hard at Chris' elbow. He makes a face of disgust when Randall picks up more eggs with his hands and drops them straight into his mouth.

"Hmm, not bad. This egg salsa thing is pretty good."

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris sees Stiles ask why he even needed to get a plate out, as the Neanderthal was perfectly content to eat with his hands. Chris manages to turn the laugh in his throat to a cough.

He finishes serving out breakfast and takes his regular seat next to Stiles.

Chris is in the middle of taking a drink of his coffee when Stiles asks him if he's going to have to teach Randall how to use the silverware as well because that's an undertaking that's going to take weeks and he doesn't have the time. Randall is dragging a chair from the kitchen table over to sit on.

Chris snorts coffee. He coughs, hacking it out. Stiles smirks and pounds on his back.

"You OK there, Chris?"

In the kitchen chair, Randall barely comes up to the edge of the counter.

"Yeah," Chris says, wiping at his mouth. "Coffee just went down the wrong pipe."

 

Randall doesn't like crossword puzzles. He pretends to be interested but after an hour of sitting there, watching Chris talk to Stiles and blatantly not getting the puns that Chris has to relay (minus the insulting comments) and gives up.

"I should probably get going."

Clubs to drag, wheels to be amazed at, Stiles remarks, he's got a busy day planned. Chris elbows him.

"Alright."

Chris stands, setting down his pen. He walks Randall to the door. They stand there awkwardly, Chris waiting for him to leave. Randall crowds into him.

"I had a fun time. Thanks for letting me stay over."

He's got a small smirk on his face and one hand on Chris' hip.

"Me too," Chris says and doesn't mean it.

Randall kisses him, pressing close for a moment, hand wandering to his ass. Chris kisses back on reflex. It's all right. Nothing special as far as kisses go. It goes on longer than Chris would like. He's stuck staring at Randall's eyelids from far closer than he would prefer. He ends the kiss.

"Stiles is waiting for me," he says right before he hears thumping noises. Randall grins.

"The kid's kinda snotty," he mutters, kissing Chris' neck. Chris rolls his eyes.

"He's just mad at me."

"Why?"

"Saturday morning is..." Our morning? Our alone time? None of the things he can fill that in with sound appropriate. "Saturday morning is when he and I do the crossword together."

"And here I thought he just didn't like me."

Chris looks to the side as he takes a step back. Randall laughs loudly.

"Jealous punk."

Chris frowns at him.

"Stiles is a good guy who's been through some terrible things."

"Yeah, I saw the scarring. Damaged larynx? I also saw some more on the back of his head too. Was his vagus nerve damaged?"

Chris takes another step back.

"How did you...?"

Randall looks to the side.

"Friend of mine has a vagus nerve disorder."

Chris nods. He doesn't believe him.

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's alright. I mean, she has to wear a diaper and all of her food goes through a blender but it could be worse." Randall shrugs. "Anyway, I gotta go. See you later?"

Chris shakes his head.

"No, yeah. Definitely."

Randall leans in, gives Chris one last kiss and opens the door. Chris watches until he's pulled away from the house in his car.

Stiles gives him a dirty look when he comes back into the kitchen.

"What?"

He shakes his head.

 

They end up marathoning Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Chris finds out that Stiles has a thing for Giles. The rhyming alone amuses him. Right up until the swimming episode when Xander walks out in a Speedo.

Stiles teases him for missing his mouth while Chris picks popcorn off his lap. He's not blushing but it's a close thing. They both agree that Spike is sexy at least. And also that Wiilow is a badass.

Neither of them likes Angel.

 

Chris has the mixer out when Stiles walks into the kitchen. He's wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung pajama pants that Chris definitely doesn't get distracted by. Stiles takes one look around the kitchen and goes to the fridge. He pulls out one egg and cracks it over the mix. Chris frowns.

"The recipe calls for two."

Stiles grins, heading to the coffee maker.

He tells Chris to trust him. Chris has his doubts but does as he says. He only has an hour before Allison is due home and he doesn't want to waste it debating over how many eggs to use.

 

The first thing Allison does when he gets home is give Stiles a big hug and kiss his cheek. After she cups his face and gives him a sad smile. Stiles looks to the side for a moment. Scott gives him a sad smile too.

Chris stands there to the side with a plate of brownies and feels like he missed something.

"We made brownies," he says for lack of anything else. Allison makes a noise of delight and dives for them.

Stiles was right. One egg made them moist and creamy like fudge but still fluffy. They sit around the kitchen table and catch up. Apparently Allison got crapped on by a seagull and Scott battled a crab.

"By battled he means ran away screaming while it chased him."

Stiles snickers.

"They're pure evil," Scott says, a semi-serious look on his face. Allison rolls her eyes. She's become an expert in lip reading.

They never ask what Chris did. It's like they already know. He's getting a frosty shoulder from her and disappointed looks from Scott. He has no idea what he did wrong.

 

Thanksgiving is quiet. Just the two of them and a too big turkey. He watches Allison chew on her lip and push her dinner around for a solid five minutes before he gives up.

"OK," he says and sets down his fork. She obviously doesn't hear him. He leans over and puts his hand over hers. She looks up, eyes wide.

"What?"

"What'd I do?"

She frowns and removes her hand from under his.

"Nothing."

Chris pulls his hand back.

"Then why are you treating me like I grounded you?"

She shakes her head.

"You did nothing."

Somehow he feels as if that's what he did wrong and not her evading the question. Chris wonders what she means.

 

It's Lydia's turn to pick the movie. She brings over Les Mis. Chris can't help but think it was a poor choice since Allison can't hear the music. Chris is sitting next to the projector alone, Stiles haven chosen the spot next to Isaac.

The two get along better than Chris would expect. Mostly it's Isaac talking and Stiles making pantomimes or texting him since Isaac doesn't know ASL.

 

[December]

 

"That should do it," Sheriff Stilinski says, signing his name at the bottom of the contract. Chris smiles and packs away a few stray papers. Stilinski stands when Chris does. He shakes Chris' hand.

"I wanted to thank you," he says; hand still firm around Chris'. "For letting Stiles stay over so much. It's been a tough couple of months and I know Stiles is a handful. I owe you."

Chris smiles politely, his palm a little sweaty.

"It was no problem. He's been more a help than anything."

Stilinski smiles and drops his hand.

"I'm his father, you don't have to lie to me."

Chris laughs, uncomfortable.

"I'm not. He's been great to have around."

 

Chris breaks it off with Randall. He doesn't take it well. Just keeps asking Chris what he did wrong.

"You're not him," Chris says with a shrug. It's the only thing he could think of. There isn't a reason. He's just tired of Randall.

"Not who?"

Chris looks away from Randall's watery eyes and shakes his head.

"You're leaving me for another man and won't even give me the courtesy of telling me who." Randall's voice is flat. Chris feels uncomfortable just looking at him.

"I'm in love with him," Chris says and relief pours through him like he's finally admitted something he's been lying about for a long time. Randall slumps.

Chris leaves.

 

When he gets home, Allison's car is gone. Probably out with Lydia. He vaguely recalls her telling him about the mall and a movie or something.

Stiles is in the kitchen angrily mashing potatoes like they did him wrong. There's a bowl full of marinade with steaks in it and a covered bowl of salad sitting on the counter. Some almost pop-like punk band is playing in the background. Stiles is wearing his “Blow the Cook” apron over his orange over shirt and brown T-shirt. He doesn't look up when Chris comes in.

Chris leans against Stiles' back and steals a tomato from the salad, one hand on his hip.

"Are those garlic potatoes?" He asks around the cherry tomato in his mouth. Stiles nods and chews on his lip. Chris smiles at him.

"Way to a man's heart," he says and pecks Stiles' cheek before turning around to pull out some plates to set the table with.

There's a clatter of metal against glass. Chris turns around, plates in hand. Stiles is right there in front of him, angry look on his face. Chris' heart beats faster than it has in a long time. He panics.

What if he read him wrong? What if he read this whole thing wrong? What if–

Stiles pushes him until his back hits the fridge. The plates crash to the floor. Stiles tastes even better than he imagined.

Chris groans, hands fisting at his sides. He's afraid to touch. Scared that it will end if he does. Terrified that as soon as he reaches out Stiles will disappear and Chris will wake up alone and hard in his bed again.

Stiles pulls back, small smile on his thin face. Chris reaches out. Stiles captures his hand and kisses his knuckles. Chris crowds into Stiles' personal space and kisses him again.

Stiles' tongue pushes against Chris' lips, firm and insistent. Chris parts them for him but he doesn't take advantage of it. Stiles sucks on Chris' bottom lip instead, tongue moving across it as his hands grip Chris' hips. Chris' arms go around Stiles' shoulders as Stiles pushes him until his back hits the fridge again. Stiles tugs on Chris' hips, grinding against him. Chris' head hits the fridge.

"Fuck," he groans as Stiles tongue moves slowly, methodically, down his throat. Stiles communicates his approval of this by sucking lightly on the skin stretched over his tendon.

One of Chris' hands move up, his fingers tangling in Stiles' short hair. Their hips move together, brushing groin against groin and Chris doesn't know if it's one or both of them that's doing it but he does know that they're both getting hard.

He tugs on Stiles' hair.

"Come here," he says, "Come here."

Stiles lifts his head from where he was licking across the parts of Chris' collarbone that show over his shirt. Chris kisses him. He wants nothing more than this. He wants more of this.

He wants Stiles' mouth all over him. He wants to taste Stiles' stomach, lick across every bone and inch of skin.

Stiles' hand trails down Chris' chest, light and teasing, as he strokes his tongue slowly with his own. Chris' hips jerk forward when Stiles curls his fingers into the waistband of his jeans, his knuckles pressing into the sensitive skin on the inside of Chris' hip. Stiles pulls back from the kiss as his thumb brushes over Chris' jeans right over where the head of his dick is. The look on Stiles' face is–

Chris' hips jerk, head slamming into the fridge when Stiles presses his thumb firmly against it. Something falls off the fridge and Stiles massages small circles into the head of Chris' prick. God, he aches all over. Chris can't seem to close his mouth anymore, panting as he is. Stiles doesn't stop, doesn't move, just watches Chris as he rubs that one small part of Chris' cock through his jeans.

Chris fists Stiles' shirt over his sides and rocks his hips. He tries to pull Stiles in, tries to kiss him again, but Stiles doesn't move, his only point of contact those fingers curled into Chris' jeans and that fucking thumb.

Chris whines. He has no dignity anymore. Everything has been replaced with this intense need to touch and be touched.

"Stiles," he hisses, back arching, stomach jerking, "Plea-- fuck."

Chris groans, hips stuttering as Stiles pulls his hand away. Chris stands there, staring at Stiles. His cock throbs in time with his rapid heartbeat.

Stiles smirks, licks his lips, and tells Chris absolutely nothing before pressing his whole hand along the length of Chris' dick. His palm rubs lightly against him as he curls his fingers and scratches at the material over Chris' balls.

Chris' hands scrabble at the fridge, needing something to hold on to as Stiles takes him apart with one fucking hand. He hasn't even gone under Chris' clothes yet.

Chris is pathetic, desperate. Absolutely turned on. Chris moans, shakes his head, hips thrusting without his volition. His fingers hurt from where they dig into the top of the freezer door.

"Kiss me," Chris blurts out without meaning to, "Fucking kiss me, Stiles."

Stiles grins and leans in. He brushes his lips lightly over Chris', thumb stroking Chris' cock. One of Chris' hands detaches itself from the fridge and curls around Stiles' neck, pulling him in.

He sucks Stiles' tongue into his mouth, strokes it with his own and grazes it lightly with his teeth. Stiles breathes in through his nose and presses his hand firmly against Chris' cock. Stiles pulls back from the kiss. Chris nips at his lips, gently grazing them with his tongue.

Stiles mouths something. Chris might not be as good as Allison at lip reading but he knows when someone is telling him they want to fuck him. Chris has never wanted anything more in his life. He opens his mouth, intent on begging if he has to.

The front door opens. They step away from each other, breathing heavy.

"Heyyyy, I'm home!"

Chris takes in a deep breath through his nose, leans forward, raising his hand to ghost it over the side of Stiles' face. His eyes close. Chris kisses him once more, softly, carefully, before pulling back.

Stiles turns away, picks up the potato masher and goes back to work. Chris picks up the broom from the pantry and starts sweeping up glass. Allison walks in.

She looks from Chris to Stiles to the floor and back at Stiles.

"What happened?"

Stiles side eyes Chris before telling Allison that Chris just dropped some plates. He must tell her something else while Chris is bent over sweeping the glass into the dustpan because she laughs. Chris is hard as stone and he wants to kiss his daughter's friend again.

Chris dumps the glass into the trash.

He wants Stiles to fuck him through the mattress, on the kitchen counter, the floor. The where doesn't matter so much as long as he gets Stiles' cock in him. Chris listens to Allison chat about her trip to the mall while he sets the table for three. She sounds excited, happy. She doesn't give him the cold shoulder like she has been.

Throughout dinner all he can think about is Stiles' lips on his, his thumb rubbing his prick.

Chris is a dirty old man.

 

It's torture to sit next to Stiles on the couch as they watch Merlin with Allison. He's not even paying attention, just sitting there thinking about how horrible an idea this is.

It doesn't stop him from letting Stiles straddle him and stick his hands up Chris' shirt when Allison goes to bed. The feel of Stiles' ass spread over his lap, his thumbs rubbing little paths over Chris' nipples, and that sure tongue slowly exploring every crevice of his mouth is almost enough to make him come.

Almost.

But Stiles is on his way to correcting that, hands moving down Chris' torso to his belt. Chris removes his hands from Stiles' back and grabs Stiles'

He frowns and mouths what at Chris.

Chris looks down at their hands.

"Just... Slow down OK?"

He looks up at Stiles who huffs and shakes his head, extracting his hands from Chris' grip.

So what? Above the waist or over clothes?

Chris nods and looks to the side. He feels embarrassed for his reticence but not enough to revoke his request. Stiles moves Chris' head with a hand under his chin.

Hey, he tells Chris, it's OK.

Stiles kisses him slow and sweet. Maybe he gets it, Chris thinks as Stiles runs his hands over his sides. Maybe he understands. Chris just doesn't know how since he doesn't understand it himself.

 

They fall asleep on the couch together. This time Chris wakes up with Stiles on top of him.

Stiles drools.

 

[June]

 

“Did you remember your passport?” Chris asks and Allison rolls her eyes at him.

“Yes, dad.”

He frowns at her, worry overtaking him entirely.

“Your meds?”

She gives him a flat look.

“We’re gonna be late,” she says just as Stiles returns to her side from where he was checking their baggage.

You would not believe what I had to sell just to check our bags, Stiles states.

Chris hugs Allison tightly. He knew this was his idea, giving her this trip as a graduation present but that doesn’t mean he can’t worry.

“Be safe,” he says and holds in the princess he almost added on to the end of that. She never liked being called that anyway.

“We will.”

She smiles and adjusts her bag on her shoulder. Chris and Stiles stare at each other. Allison smiles condescendingly at them.

“If you two don’t kiss I’m going to shoot one of you.”

Stiles grins lopsidedly at Chris before grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling Chris in close.

His lips are warm, familiar, perfect. Chris is going to miss him. He settles his hands on Stiles’ hips and tries not to make the kiss inappropriate for public view.

Take care, Stiles mouths at him. Chris wraps his arms around Stiles and nuzzles his neck. They’re only going away for two weeks but it doesn’t matter. It feels like an eternity of worry already.

Stiles kisses the side of his head and detangles himself from Chris. He smiles at Chris and waves.

Chris watches them until they get inside of the airport. He starts to head back to his SUV. There are feet running up behind him. Chris turns around in time to get an armful of Stiles. He kisses Chris deep and dirty, pressing against him, hands mussing up Chris’ hair.

Stiles winks when he pulls back and tells Chris he’ll think about him when he masturbates.

Chris laughs but his amusement doesn’t stop heat from pooling in his belly at the thought of Stiles naked, thick cock in hand.

“Go,” he says and pushes Stiles back towards the terminal. “You’re going to miss your flight.”

This time Chris stands in front of the glass doors and watches as Stiles and Allison ride the escalator up to the second floor. They hand tickets, passport, and a card over to the TSA agent standing just barely in Chris’ line of sight.

Both of them better come back in one piece or he’ll turn the Virgin Islands into the next lost city of Atlantis single handedly. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "It's hope that will save us from who we once were."


End file.
